


That Medicine

by GirlofAction



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Tumblr, sorry about the tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlofAction/pseuds/GirlofAction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one's heard from Derek in a couple of days, so Stiles takes it upon himself to go looking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a super, _super_ quick ficlet that was inspired by [this post](http://heyysourwolf.tumblr.com/post/37696147711) on Tumblr. I didn't proofread it, as you can probably tell, and yes, I stopped before the sweet sweet lovin', but I just wanted to get it out there before I lost the inspiration. Title was with Lana Del Rey's "Gods and Monsters" in mind: _you've got that medicine I need_.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [stilespls](http://stilespls.tumblr.com). Come say hi!
> 
> Aaaaanyway. If I keep talking, this will end up being longer than the fic itself. ONWARD!

It's not that Stiles keeps tabs on Derek so much finding him is a matter of necessity. Scott still wolfs out when he gets too excited about Monday Night Football, Peter is still lurking around being... well, you know. Peter.

And while Stiles may be pretty awesome - massively adaptable, extremely resourceful, great with the ladies - he's really not all that good at keeping anyone in check. And let's be real, that's not his job. So when Derek doesn't answer his phone calls or texts, and doesn't even come to the door to glare at him when Stiles shouts for him Scott Style, he knows something is wrong.

He's had worse ideas than exploring the Hale house by himself unarmed, right?

...he must've. At some point.

The house is still as dismal as it ever was, ashen floor that's part charcoal, part misery, and most likely part black mold, but Stiles makes his way through, room by room, calling Derek's name. He's not getting any feelings of impending doom, so he figures that he's safe for now. 

Ever since Scott turned into a werewolf, he's had odd definitions of the word 'safe.'

He's about ready to give up and assume that Derek is dead in a ditch somewhere when he hears Derek, a low and familiar growl, far away and muffled. Possibly in pain? 

Maybe he shouldn't have left his lacrosse stick in the jeep.

It takes a few minutes, but he finds it eventually - a trap door covered by a disgusting, ratty rug that Stiles moves with the dirtiest part of his cleat. He listens hard, straining to hear any sounds of movement, and instead just lifts the trap door a bit while secretly praying he isn't going to catch anything from touching it, face just inches from the floor.

"Derek?"

"Don't come down here." Derek's voice is strained, teeth gritting so hard that Stiles swears he can actually hear it.

"Well, wait, are you in trouble?" Stiles likes how he can talk about it like he's asking about the weather.

"No. Go home, Stiles."

Naturally, that's exactly the first thing that Stiles doesn't do, instead grinning widely and throwing the trap door open unceremoniously (there's probably no black mold here really, right?) and clambering down the ladder, then the steps that go deep enough to likely descend into some random gate to hell. It's dark, almost uncomfortably warm, but Derek had said there was no trouble, so who knows. Maybe the alpha just likes to mediate in the dark. Or whatever.

All the same, Stiles gropes along the side of the wall as he feels his way down the stairs, voice seeming louder than usual in the dark. 

"Where the hell have you been? There's been trouble back at the farm, I'm not used to being the one playing Lass--" He finds the lightswitch and hits it, barely having a moment to take in where the hell he was before he sees Derek. 

Chained to the wall and absolutely naked.

"Oh my god," Stiles stammers, arms windmilling an abnormal amount as he scrambles back against the wall. "What the hell? Why are you-- what are you-- is someone else down here? Oh my god, am I interrupting some freaky sex ritual?"

Derek just glares, so Stiles fills the silence like he always feels obligated to. 

"I can. That is. Wow. You know what? I'm just gonna leave you to... to your thing. Not your thing. Your things. Your... whatever you're doing  _okayI'llseeyoulater_."

"Stiles."

Derek's voice is so quiet that Stiles is amazed he manages to hear it over the sound of him tripping over himself trying to get out of the basement. All the same, he turns to look at him - and actually gets a good, long look.

Derek is flush from head to toe, sweat on his brow, chest rising and falling visibly even from where he stands in a steady pant. His muscles are taut as he strains against the cuffs on his wrists, a needy sort of gesture that Stiles only recognizes as needy because Derek is rock hard, straining against his stomach.

Oh god. 

"Oh god," he says out loud, too, shoving his arm across his eyes, browbone pressed stubbornly to his bicep, "no, no. No, definitely no, I cannot be looking at you while you are looking like something out of the Chippendales-slash-BDSM calendar. I gotta go, Derek, I'll talk to you--"

"Come here." 

Something in Derek's voice gives him no room to argue. He lowers his arm slowly, painfully slowly from his eyes, and walks over with his eyes very firmly on Derek's. In fact, he refuses to look anywhere else. 

This doesn't seem to make things easier, like he thinks it will. In fact, it makes them harder, and yes, in exactly the way he is trying not to think about things being harder.

He stops when he's close enough to feel the suffocating warmth from Derek's body, to see the red bleeding in just around his pupils. He clears his throat nervously, voice quieter this time. "So, uh... what did you need?"

Derek strains against the cuffs again, chains rattling as he pulls them to their full length, just far enough that the air from his breath brushes Stiles' lips.

"I'm in heat."


End file.
